


Just Duckie

by HYPERFocused



Category: HUGHES John - Works, Pretty In Pink (1986)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Puns, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, F/M, Fashion & Couture, High School, Junior High, M/M, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-28
Updated: 2003-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HYPERFocused/pseuds/HYPERFocused
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memory of "Duckie" at fourteen, junior high school dance, back when they were allowed to be friends: warm brown eyes, soft dark curls like blanket fringe under his fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Duckie

**Author's Note:**

> So [LifeInWords](http://www.livejournal.com/users/LifeInWords/) issued me a random challenge: Fandom: John Hughes 80s teen movie. The words "8-track" "legal" and the phrase "But I thought third base was __" must all be used.  
> 

After all the hassles they've been through to get to the dance, Blane can't get rid of Andie fast enough. By the time OMD's "If You Leave" starts playing over the stereo system, he's already planning some of his own maneuvers in the dark.

He feels bad about it. She's obviously gone to a lot of trouble making her dress. It was creatively executed, but hideous -- a sure sign that just because you _can_ do something doesn't mean you _should_.

Andie's a pretty girl, and fun to talk to, but he has to admit, she isn't the real reason he's there. No, the real draw - he hopes - is waiting outside the gym, in improbable white snakeskin shoes and a haircut his father wouldn't have been caught dead in.

* * *

Memory of "Duckie" at fourteen, junior high school dance, back when they were allowed to be friends: warm brown eyes, soft dark curls like blanket fringe under his fingers.

They're doing nothing _close_ to legal up against the wall of the eighth grade boys' bathroom. Jeans undone, but not too far lowered, in case anyone comes in and they have to break apart fast. Duckie's hand is wrapped tight around his dick - a brand new feeling when it's someone else doing the touching.

Duckie's red plastic 8-track playing "I Love Rock and Roll", and Blane does. He loves the rock and the roll of being pressed against this boy - doing what they're doing while the party goes on without them. Lilting voices from the girls' room next door slip in between Duckie's gasps, and the noises he never expected to be making: "But i thought third base was... you know" and "You mean you actually put it in your mouth? Eww."

He and Duckie share a conspiratorial laugh at that, but Duckie stops laughing when Blane walks them into a stall, and kneels down and unzips him. The nervous giggling begins anew when Blane pulls down his chinos, and stops to guffaw at Duckie's glow in the dark Ghostbusters underwear, before sliding them down to his ankles as well.

It's awkward. Neither of them really knows what they're doing, and Blane nearly gags. But he's always been a diligent student, and he soon gets the hang of things.

"Oh, Blane. Hasn't your mother ever told you not to put strange things in your mouth when you don't know where they've been?" Duckie spits out these words of wisdom once he can catch his breath.

"I know where you've been, and leave my mother out of it. Dork." Blane laughs. He's inordinately proud of himself. He can still taste Duckie's come when he licks his lips.

It's his biggest secret, and the thing he most wants to share with his best friend. He isn't stupid. He doesn't say anything.

* * *

And now he's seventeen, and hasn't touched another guy since that year, much as he's wanted to. Because "That sort of thing belongs back in junior high, Blane", Steff had told him. He suspects Steff wants nothing more than to do that sort of "stuff" himself, though he won't admit it. There must be a reason he only fucks girls he hates, trite trysts with trust fund bitches.

Not that he's interested. Blond hair swept back in a perfect wave, unblemished skin nothing like his spotty reputation. Summer weight white jacket, and a background that's just as bleached. Steff is his best friend, but Blane would be the first to admit he's a world-class asshole. There isn't the faintest touch of color or originality in Steff. No quirkiness to catch Blane's attention the way Duckie did. Steff is as smooth and fake as Lucite.

What Steff did teach him was how to act the part. He's very, very good, but Blane is better. Blane learned to play the role so well. He's such a good catch, but he can slip out of any grasp.

He pretends to show his individuality by going after the cute girl from the wrong side of town. It's all a cover, though. He can break up with her, citing differences in upbringing, and the futility of trying to mix classes, and it will all be true. "We can't help the world we live in, Andie. When we get out of school things will be different... You know I really do like you a lot."

It takes a week of self-debate for him to ask Andie to the dance. She's probably not the best choice as far as his reputation is concerned. Steff offered several of his castoffs. Suitable girls from suitable homes, and he'd be guaranteed a million dollar fuck. Every girl's mother wants her to land a Blane McDonnagh and his family connections.

He's kind of a bastard for that, but he really does like her - almost as much as he likes her best friend. Kissing her isn't that bad, when he can imagine Duckie in the room with them, watching with that sardonic expression of his. "Well, then --" he pictures Duckie saying - like it means something; and with Duckie, it does.

 

Blane spends a ridiculous amount of time at Trax, Andie's record store, looking through discs he'll never listen to and watching the interplay between Andie, Duckie and the storeowner, Iona.

There's something a little sad about her. 35, and still obviously stuck at 16. If he's at all honest with himself, Blane can see himself at 35, unhappily married and wishing he was 16 and free again.

Still, it's fun to watch. Duckie flirts with everyone, but Blane knows it's meant for him. He offers Duckie a lift home, though he plans a nice long detour on the way. Iona obviously knows what's up, and asks Andie to stay for a little girl talk, before she can offer her carpool services. He'll have to remember to thank her later.

He opens the passenger side door, and watches as Duckie gets in, a little quizzical looking. They aren't exactly friends anymore, and certainly they haven't talked about that day in junior high.

"You shouldn't be hurting her like this," Duckie says. "It isn't fair to her. She doesn't know about you. She thinks you're a stand up guy." The expression on his face is of someone who's just smelled bad cheese.

"I know. I'm sorry," he says. "I do like her, but not the way she thinks I do. I wish I could just tell her the truth." He reaches over and puts a hand on Duckie's knee. "You know how I really feel. You always have."

"Oh yeah. I know. I also know that your friends have no qualms about kicking the shit out of me; that they treat me and my friends like dirt they scraped off of their topsiders. I know that you've hardly talked to me since that day in eighth grade - in which I recall you were an equally active participant."

"You don't understand. There are expectations... My family doesn't know. They think I'm going to marry some debutante, and give them 2.3 grandchildren. I probably _will_ do that. But it's not what I want."

"Yes, and you'll make _her_ miserable, too. That's just peachy." Duckie's look is disdainful.

"And you don't think I have expectations? You don't think my family is just as homophobic, that my father wouldn't kick me out if he knew? You think I stay out all night because I love sleeping on the street?" Duckie is practically yelling.

"Yeah, well, I don't see you asking a guy to the prom, or to one of those clubs you go to."

"There hasn't been one I've been interested in besides __" Duckie doesn't look up at him.

"Oh." Blane can't help grinning at that. He's more pleased at this than he probably ought to be. Just because there's interest, doesn't mean anything's going to happen. He's too much of a coward, and Duckie's surely given up on him by now.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." He doesn't know what to say. It's a good thing he's driving. He can barely get the words out, can't look Duckie in the eye. Nothing can make it right between them, but he wants to try. "I'm such an asshole. When I like someone I can't ever tell them. I'm so used to hiding; to lying. "

"And yet I like you anyway. I wish I knew why." Blane hasn't had that laugh directed at him for years, and didn't know how much he'd missed it.

"Come to the dance. Please. You'll have fun watching all of us make idiots of ourselves. You can gloat about it later. I'll find some excuse to slip away early, and we can __" He hasn't been this scared since his first debutante ball. Three months of dance lessons, and he still stepped on Kristi Crain's toes. Like most of his dates, she disappeared with Steff before the night was over. He didn't think that was in the etiquette guidelines.

"All right. But show Andie a good time. She deserves it. She deserves better than you."

"So do you." He ventures a small smile.

"Yeah, well, that remains to be seen. I hear you've matured a lot in the last three minutes, if not the last three years." Duckie's palm in his is warm, and a little bit rough. It's perfect. Blane hasn't felt anything so good in ages. He leans in and kisses Duckie at the stoplight and that feels even better.

Turning is a little bit awkward, but it isn't difficult, driving one-handed through the not-so-bad-anymore side of town.


End file.
